


Obsidian Dream

by Sanctified_Jasper



Series: Coda of Thrones [3]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: DO NOT POST TO AN UNOFFICIAL APP, Do not post to another site, Fixing Troop Morale, Gen, Habedashery, Obsidian Shards fix everything now, and some clay, how to stop the Night King's summon undead spell in four simple stitches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-07 05:08:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18866347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanctified_Jasper/pseuds/Sanctified_Jasper
Summary: After finishing in the Crypts, one of the men brings a worrisome thought to Sansa's attention, she does her best to find a solution.





	Obsidian Dream

Sansa and the men, all five of them, ascended from the crypts into the cold morning sunshine. The torch was burning low, and the sixth of the night. Sansa and the original two men, Aldric and Halder, had to return to the surface when the _first_ torch burnt low, taking the chance to grab several unlit torches as they realised how long the task would take them.

They'd picked up three more volunteers to help speed the work along, one to hold the torches, and two more to help open the tombs and caskets.

Their aid had sped up the work considerably.

One of the men had brought satchels, which made it easier to carry the shards. Sansa was able to carry a few dozen at a time, going from one body to another while the men moved to open and close the graves ahead and behind her, returning to Halder to restock her supply.

They would have been going until dawn the next day otherwise, Sansa swears it.

“Mi'Lady?”

“Yes Ben?” Sansa turned from to weak sunlight she'd been basking in.

“I was just wondering,” Ben, their young torch bearer shuffled in place, nervous, “the men said that at Hardhome, the Night King raised the wildlings that died fighting him.”

Sansa nodded, she'd heard the same thing, straight from Jon.

“I was just wondering if he tried to raise us, if we fall...” Ben looked scared, Sansa could see shadows of the same fear in the eyes of the other men to.

They'd try to run rather than risk becoming wights, she was sure. For a split second, Sansa hated herself for what she was about to do, unsure if it was false hope or true.

“Are there more shards?” She asked Aldric.

“Bloody buck loads,” he flinched as he realised who he'd just said that to, “I mean, yes mi'lady, quite a supply.”

Sansa smiled, friendly and amused.

“Well then,” she said, “could you show me to them please.” She turned to Ben, “I have it on good authority from my brother and master Samwell, that the mere touch of dragon glass can be effective, it stands to reason that a shard worn against the skin should be enough to disrupt the Night King's powers.”

She used the trick Cersei had taught her: say it with enough authority, say it like you know it to be true, and men will believe. They wanted to believe.

Looking at the men before her, she could see she'd succeeded, they believed.

* * *

Sansa sat near the centre of a room full of women and children, the women were using small rocks to grind the sharp edges off of obsidian shards before sewing them into short lengths of cloth. The children were carefully coating the edges of their shards in clay.

Tyrion observed them as they used pieces of straw to help shape little loops on one point of the shards' clay rims. A makeshift kiln had been put together to bake the clay dry so the resulting pendants could be put on strings.

Tyrion wound his way towards the young Stark woman, her voice clear as she sung a prayer of protection. Several other voices accompanied hers from various parts of the room, the air carried a sense of hope.

“Sansa,” the young woman looked up at the sound of her name, her song coming to a halt. Many of the women looked to her when her voice dropped from the prayer, but upon seeing Tyrion beside her, they went back to their own tasks.

“Lord Tyrion,” Sansa gave him a smile. It was a good smile, but he had known her in King's Landing, what felt like a life time ago, he could see the vaguest hints of falsehood, of _worry_  in her pleasant demeanour.

“I hear you and your ladies have been working on some kind of mystical amulet to protect us from the Night King's powers.”

Sansa ducked her head in demure acceptance of his words, a smile of affection found its way onto Tyrions mouth. Sansa had learnt to play The Game well, from the best _and_ the worst. The difference was, Sansa seemed to be playing for the benefit of the people in this room, for the men around Winterfell who'd been more hopeful as the day wore on.

“I was talking to some of the men earlier this morning, as we came up from the Crypts, and there is some concern that the soldiers who fall fighting the Night King might be brought back as wights. But as Master Samwell has told us," she pitched her voice just so, "wights cannot stand _the touch_ of dragon glass, so we've been preparing the pieces too small to be used as weapons, for the men to wear into battle.” She held her current work piece out for him to examine, he could see how she'd sown across and around the shard to form a net to keep it in place without covering its surface. “We've done our best to ensure the pieces won't cut the wearer, since they'll need to be worn against the skin. We have amulets for under the shirts, and these bands that can be tied around the arm, since we've only so much clay and so many rag strips to use before we begin impacting the supplies that will be needed for the battle.”

“A wonderful idea,” Tyrion said, loud enough to be heard across the room, but not so loud that it seemed suspicious, “I'll be expecting mine soon.”

Sansa gave him a grin and reached into her basket of carefully folded, complete bands. She pulled out a smaller, slightly thinner band than the one she was working on, “my lord.”

He put his hand out to accept it, but Sansa moved past his hand, pushing up his sleeve to tie it around his forearm.

“I feel safer already,” he said with as much sincerity as he could. More quietly, as Sansa pulled his sleeve down to cover the band, he asked, “by the way, what were you doing in the Crypts with the men?”

“Putting shards in the eye sockets of my ancestors,” she replied, just as quietly. “If we're going to use the Crypts to keep the non-combatants safe, it seemed best to ensure there would be no dead to rise inside the safe room.”

“I hadn't thought of that,” Tyrion admitted with a worried frown.

“Nobody had,” Sansa said, assuring him that it hadn't been his error alone, “I only thought of it because I was down there praying for my father's guidance and protection, _for the dead to be with us in this fight_. Then I realised they already were.” She gave him a chagrined smile, and squeezed his hand. “Honestly though, these shards have turned out to be the most useful scraps, it almost seems a shame that we can't just throw them at the incoming army. If they turn out to be as useful as we've been hoping, it might... what's with that look?”

Tyrion's face had brightened with an idea as she'd spoke, “is there any chance there's more of these shards? You've just given me an idea.”

“What kind of idea?” She asked with curious enthusiasm.

“Have you ever seen a barrel of flour explode?” Tryion asked, thinking of a pantry from days long gone, flour everywhere and barrel debris stuck in the stone walls.

“No,” Sansa gave him a suspicious look, “but I can imagine.”

“Good,” he reached out to shake her small pouch of shards, “now imagine sharper, and thrown by a catapult.”

He could see on her face, the way the image built in her mind, until she was looking at him with delighted surprise.

“So, any more shards?”

She leaned towards him conspiratorially, “bloody bucket loads.” She grinned as she gave him the directions to the store of shards, with a promise to let her know how the idea turned out, he left.

Sansa's voice picked up the prayer, weaving seamlessly back into the song.  


**Author's Note:**

> Cut for OOC flirting and story flow:  
> Tyrion turned to leave.  
> A few steps away he turned back to her.  
> “You know, it's a shame things weren't meant to be between us, our babies would have been truly brilliant.”  
> Sansa ducked her head again, smiling coyly, a glint of mischief in her eyes, “don't be ridiculous my lord, our babies would have been terrifying. They'd probably already have taken over the seven kingdoms and made the Night King kneel in fealty.”  
> Tyrion chuckled, “that would hardly be a bad thing.”  
> Sansa considered his words, “true,” she dragged the word out, “but then they'd have to fight Daenerys, and that would be a shame.”  
> “Ah, yes, that would be awful.”


End file.
